Dark Cloud: The Rise of Lord Voldemort
by O-Seraph-O
Summary: Follows Tom from his first train ride to Hogwarts until that fateful night where his wand pointed at the boy who would destroy him. Reviews can not be demanded but they determine how fast I write.


Peace is the greatest deterrent to it's own preservation. Peace is the groundwork on which apathy can be built. No one can believe that anyone would seek to disturb the peace. The longer the peace goes on, the more apathy that is built. And when that peace is finally destroyed and shattered, the curtain of apathy is pulled back to reveal the reality. The reality that one from among you has risen up, and while your backs were turned, hatched a plan to remove your apathy by force.

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The Hogwarts Express was no better then any other train. No magic had been put into it to make it go faster or smoother then any other of the hundreds of other rail cars that moved along the web of track that covered England. To any muggle farmer, looking out over his fields of animals, it was nothing more then another passing train. And that was why it was the perfect transportation for the magically capable children inside. 

The sun was bright this particular day, shining through the windows, and dampening the flashes that burst in mid air as first years tried so desperately to produce anything. The flashes and bangs they did make brought laughter, more so when it came at the expense of one of the other students. Their wands moved around flagrantly, without the purpose and grace that they one day would, but that did not deter them. To them, this was their first chance to use magic on their own, and certainly school would be as fun as their play was.

One boy did not drew stares as the older students passed by. Most first years drew stares for the usual reasons, like jumping off of things while waving their wands, accidents caused by their inexperienced waving, or wand placement in parts of the body that seemed abnormal. This boy blended into his surroundings. Where as all other first years stood out, he was doing the methodical checking in the book and practice that most older students showed as they practiced what was left over from their summer work.

A first year girl walked by the door repeatedly observing his skill, though noting how young the boy looked. She tried to disguise it well, and it had appeared she did. The group of 4th year girls in the neighboring compartment were oblivious to her seemingly random appearances.

"If you're going to continue with you're snooping you had best be a bit less obvious," said the boy as she was walking in front of his compartment for the 6th or so time. His wand movement did not falter, nor did his eye contact. His eye contact lay directly ahead of him, as though his eyes were incapable of looking else where.

"I was just appreciating good wizarding stock when I see it," said the girl. She came in and sat down across from the boy. Her white blonde hair was rather thin, and had an almost gas like state. Her cheek bones seemed abnormally pointy underneath her eyes. But with those exceptions she seemed rather pretty.

As she sat down, the boy's eyes fluttered. His wand pointed at the girl's chest, and if someone had walked by, it would look as though he were most certainly threatening her. With a quick spin of his wand in his fingers, he pulled it back and stowed it in his jacket pocket.

"Good stock?" asked the boy, curious about the girl's wording. "Certainly I can't be doing anything that different from the others."

"You don't have to be humble with me," said the girl. "Pure-Bloods have no reason to bother with such formalities. I can appreciate superior skills when I see them. I think you may be the only first year I've seen who even knows how a wand's supposed to move. You only get that from having seen your parents do it." She paused a few seconds, waiting to see if he would give her some hint of the answer to her hidden question. When he said nothing she continued. "My name's Bellatrix. Bellatrix Lestrange."

"I'm Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle." To the boys dismay she showed no sign of recognition of the name, no flash of clarity as she recalled facts about another famous Tom Riddle. Instead her face was blank, waiting to see if he had picked up in her question and would provide an answer. But Tom was a master at getting answers when he wanted to, and could see through her rouge. She wanted him to be a Pure-blood, and while Tom had no idea what that one, it's name alone implied that it was important. So important that an 11-year old girl would care about it. "Knowing how to use a wand is something my dad prides. Says he was amazing in school. Too bad there's no way I can tell if he's bluffing or not."

"Course you can," the girl said all to eagerly. "Hogwarts has records of students, and a collection of awards givne to those who are more...predisposed in certain magical areas. If he's as good as he brags about he'll be in there. Did he ever talk about any in particular?"

"No, old dad didn't like to talk about anything really," said Tom. "He was more into the having me learn it on my own. He'd point out occasionally why it was important, but he mentioned school rarely. I'd even imagine that I know barely more about Hogwarts then a Half-Blood." Bellatrix fell into, yet, another of Tom Riddle's verbal traps. In the two hour train ride, he had pried from her the social classes of wizards, the knowledge that somewhere in Hogwarts was a trophy room that would most likely shed light on his father's identity, and everything there was to know about Hogwarts, from the houses to the professors to the classes.

As he pulled on his school robes alone in his compartment, he couldn't help but relish two things. First, he rather liked how his second hand robes looked much darker then the other's. And secondly, he most enjoyed how his wand was bone white, and looked as though it could have been pulled right out of a skeleton. Then again, he would keep such feelings to himself. He was, after all, a master at work among children. As he stowed his wand in his robes, he reflected on his accomplishments.

"All to easy."

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AN: Depending on the responses, I'll continue writing. I have the idea for his whole 7 years in my head, and then beyond. Review if you want me to write it. 


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